Here's an old post I never got around to publishing, due to the storm clouds of depression, and confusion that follow the death of a loved one. In some ways it seems a sort of premonition, in another, it's the sort of thing I've been writing this whole period of living at home, helping tend to him. I sit here in Austin, simultaneously living in two selves. In two different time periods. I can see clearly, but I have become nearsighted.

Am I in love with this city? Our past together? My friend's beautiful apartment? I listen to the doves and mockingbirds as the light shinnies through the window. A cat pads in the periphery of the room. I haven't sneezed once since I've been here. I remember things. Topo Chico. The fear of DWI's. See with clearness the blurry faces of the past. Chisel them from soft, vague rock of the deep brain. Everything is different. Austin is fractured too. Caught between many different presents. Sculpted by many hands. Controlled by many animal brains. People come and go. Pulled by California sometimes and sometimes New York. And a part of me is already in the desert. And a part of me is in the underworld. Sewing the cremains in the white sandy soil. Doing the blind work of mourning.